


Sometime Around Midnight

by Hollunderblute



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashbacks, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, after breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollunderblute/pseuds/Hollunderblute
Summary: A random night at the pub. Drinks are flowing, music is playing, people are chatting. Then, unexpectedly seeing her across the room sends Draco's mind into a tailspin. Memories rush back, locked-up feelings creep back in, forbidden thoughts resurface. He needs to get out, he needs to escape his past before it catches up with him. But she is still there, watching and sipping that damned drink.Inspired by the song of the same name, by The Airborne Toxic Event.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Sometime Around Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song from The Airborne Toxic Event. If you haven't had the chance to listen to it yet, check it out. It's an auditory masterpiece. 
> 
> This is the first time I post in this site, so please forgive me if I did the tagging wrong. This work has not been betaed, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please don't copy to other archives/sites.

This is not where and how you were hoping to spend the night. A book and your favourite fireplace at the manor would’ve been the better choice. For the past five minutes, you’ve been contemplating leaving but it is a rare treat these days to have your two closest friends together at the same place. No matter that Blaise has been whispering sweet nothings in that blonde’s ear while Pansy shoots heavy-lidded looks at the two Romanian wizards that have been holding court at the bar.

The pub is fully packed, not a surprise for a Friday evening. You’ve caught glimpses of a couple of Hogwarts blokes you did not expect to see ever again, and you exchanged curious looks with that Ravenclaw witch that sucked you off in the third floor’s broom closet all the way back in the Fifth year. Pansy is going on about the latest fashions in Madrid and how you should both take a weekend off to drink your weights in Rioja, eat the best seafood your money can buy and dance until sunrise in the underground discos in Cortes. She rambles on about how Blaise  can come  along if he promises to behave. If Pansy is to be believed, it will be the best stag weekend Draco could ever dream of, far better than whatever  Zabini is planning. 

You’re trying to sound enthusiastic about Pansy’s plans, but you’re no longer into the partying all night thing and actually, Blaise’s plan of sailing in the Kornati islands sounded splendid. You’re trying to find the perfect words to shoot down Pansy’s plan without hurting her feelings when your eyes land on the clock on the opposite wall. It is almost midnight; you’ve been sitting here for the best of four hours and you should really start planning your exit. It is then that your sight lands on the back of a curly head that you would recognize anywhere, followed by the revealing backside of a tight white dress, and you feel your heart lurch and your stomach plummet all the way down to your ankles. 

As if summoned by your stare, she turns around and sees you. She has moved within her circle of companions to end up standing towards you. She looks directly into your eyes and you see her expression shift from surprise, to horror, to delight, sorrow and then to neutral. She’s holding a clear drink in her right hand, sipping slowly while she listens to a group of people and politely smiles in their general direction. You know that smile, the one of interested civility that she tends to offer to her political adversaries and allies alike, the one she uses to make them believe she has all her attention focused on them. Then, her eyes land on you again and the smile transforms into a sad, melancholic one. 

You can’t help but think about stolen nights in the astronomy tower, a flask of  Firewhisky changing hands, an unruly curl bouncing and being tucked in behind an ear, the smell of lemongrass. You’re trying your best to keep your attention on whatever Pansy is going on about, but her mouth wrapping itself around a straw makes the task impossible. You remember that mouth, you remember what it is capable of. A shiver runs down your spine and you realize you’re going to need another drink. You ask Pansy what she wants, and ever the gentleman, you offer to buy a new round. 

Before you know it, your legs are carrying you to the bar. You are numb and the distant piano music of tonight’s entertainment is the soundtrack to this out of body experience you’re currently having. You ask for two  Firewhiskys and gulp one instantly.

You know it is happening before it does. Her presence has always had that effect on you. The scent of lemongrass invades your nostrils, the hairs in the back of your neck stand up and your heart starts galloping inside your ribcage. You close your eyes. You breathe in, once, twice. 

“Hello, Draco,”

Her voice is soft, smooth, velvety. She’s standing beside you, an arm resting on the counter, her body angled towards you. She is so close you can see the golden freckles in her irises and a smudge of ink on her right index finger. 

“Evening, fancy seeing you here,” is all you manage to muster. Your eyes travel to that loose curl tucked behind her ear, just grazing her neck on that spot that you know so well. You know how she tastes when you kiss her there, how she reacts by throwing back her neck and allowing you more access, how she whimpers and arches towards you. How her hard nipples feel against your chest and how she closes her eyes with delight and opens her mouth just so. 

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while, not since–” she cuts herself off. She remembers –you remember the last time you saw each other. What was said, the stoic smiles and curt nods, the door closing irrevocably on that episode of your life. 

“You know me, always busy. I’m still working with the Ministry on the Centaur integration project.  Dexler has done a good job with this next stage. I check in on his work from time to time. I, er –I’ve been meaning to drop by your new office, but you know how it is, I'm always in and out,” 

She sips again from her drink and gives you a look that means,  _ of course, I understand _ .  And you both know you're full of it. Is not as if you didn't spend every free minute you had at the Ministry, dropping in with coffees and scones or sometimes, lunch. Lounging in that awfully uncomfortable couch in her office, eventually pinning her down on said couch. Not as if you had spent so much time hanging around the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that people started assuming you worked there. 

“Congratulations on the promotion, by the way. The youngest person to head the International Magical Office of Law in history. I was very proud of you when I read the announcement,” is all you contrive to say to break the uncomfortable silence. 

“You know the work on the Werewolf legislation was instrumental in me getting that promotion. It would’ve never happened hadn’t we dared to take it to the European court. I have much to thank you for,” she answers with a blush. 

“I was just your financial backer. You did all the work,” you concede. 

“You know that’s not all you did, Draco. But thank you, anyway. I am happy in my new position even if I have to deal with the French delegation more than I would like,”

She continues on her grievances against the French but you can’t take your eyes off her lips and how they sip from that damned straw every so often. You can’t help but see that same mouth wrapped around you, those doe eyes looking up adoringly, that tongue doing unspeakable things to your cock. Your memories of escapades in empty meeting rooms rush back like a tempest, hands all over bodies, legs wrapped around your waist, your hand on her breast as you fuck her against a wall. You see her splayed underneath you, her curls framing her face, her back curving and her chest against yours. You can hear how she mewls your name like a prayer,  _ Draco, Draco, please _ . You can still feel the taste of her on your tongue. 

She’s now going on about the Italians and you signal the barman for another two  Firewhiskys , the one you already had is almost empty. She’s laughing at her own joke and you can’t help but follow that laughter and get yourself lost in those twinkling eyes. Those same eyes that used to look at you with wonder, with curiosity and compassion when you poured your heart out and confessed all your dreams and fears to her. You can see your hand making patterns on her moonlit belly and still hear all the encouraging words she would whisper in your ear, make you believe that all was possible, that you just had to go and take it. 

She’s going to Paris soon and your mind rushes back to that fated weekend when you pretended to be Muggle newlyweds to get first in line at the Orangerie museum, her feeding you macarons, and a dance in the  Tuilleries garden in the middle of the night. You feel that part of your heart that will forever be broken shatter into thousands of pieces for the twentieth time while that old feeling of guilt kicks in and wraps you like a relentless serpent. 

“I hear congratulations are in order,” she finally offers. “I saw in the Prophet last week that a date has been set,” 

“It has,” is all you can answer. 

“A summer wedding sounds lovely. I hope you’re happy Draco,”

“I am,” you confess with a smile. It is true, you are happy. “Tori is good for me,”

“So, you have said,” she sighs and you see, for a brief moment, sorrow consuming her eyes, followed by what you can only describe as fondness. Your heart breaks again, if that is even possible.  You can't help but travel back to a rainy afternoon in her flat, the last time you said that exact same thing to her. How you saw a pulse of terrible pain in her eyes, followed by infinite relief and how that caused you to sut up and not continue with the rest of your confession. How in a manner you will never be able to understand or describe, the conversation completely veered in the opposite direction you were hoping to take it and before you knew it, you were both ending it and wishing each other the best of futures. How you entered the floo, completely bewildered and lost. A piece of your heart broken and a part of your mind contempt with finally having an answer to a question you had been dreading to ask. 

“I’ve only ever wished you happy, you know,” she whispers now. Her hand comes up to your cheek, finally letting go of her empty drink, her body starting to turn away from you. 

“And you?” You manage to ask as your mouth finally seems to catch up with that maelstrom of feelings that are gripping your chest. “Are you, er –happy?” you change your question at the last minute, realising that you don’t want to know if she has found anyone else. 

She gives you a genuine smile, the one she reserves only for those close to her. It makes you feel warm inside. “I am, actually. Very happy,” 

“That’s all I ever wanted for you ,” you echo. You know its time to walk away. There will always be more questions here than you’ll find answers. It is time you start dealing with the fact that some chapters just end without a neat, clear conclusion. 

“Take care,” and before you know it, you are brushing your lips against her forehead, turning away from those chocolate eyes, and going back to your table. 

ϟ

“You look like one of those Muggles that has enough magical blood in them to see a ghost. You’re pale, darling. Everything alright?” You can see concern and curiosity in Pansy’s face.

The numbness continues to spread and you just manage to deposit the  Firewhisky before her. You take a sip out of your own glass and close your eyes. You need to go home. 

“Where’s Blaise?” you deflect her question. 

“He decided to take blondie to a more private location. He says he’ll  floo you tomorrow about the sailing trip. Don’t evade my questions. I didn’t know you were close with Hermione Granger. When the hell did that happen?” Pansy demands. 

“We are not close,”

Pansy scoffs, “Draco, I’ve had a few but my eyes did not fool me, you were awfully  _ touchy _ with each other,”

“There was a point in our lives when we had a lot in common. I funded her werewolf legislation. That’s all there is to it Pansy,” your eyes are closed and your head leans back against the cold wall. You don’t want to look into her eyes and see the questions that will get you pouring your heart out. Now is not the time for that. Now is the time for tucking it all back into that room in your mind that you keep locked at all times. 

“You know I’m your friend, first and foremost. I won’t go blabbing to Tori about anything, so you can talk to me. Are you and Granger, er -you know,”

“Salazar, no. Nothing like that Pansy, really. I am loyal to Tori, I am happy with her,” and as you say this you realize the truth of it. You just don’t understand how your heart can be in two wavelengths at the same time. You still cannot reign in the vortex of thoughts and feelings wreaking havoc inside you, you still cannot feel your limbs, you cannot make sense of what seeing Hermione Granger does to you. 

Again, just like being summoned by her,  you open your eyes and find her giving you a last look before finally stepping out of the pub, a bloke you’ve never seen before guiding her with his hand on the small of her back. Just like that, she is gone. 

You’re going to be sick. You down the remainder of your  Firewhisky and make to stand up. 

“Draco, darling, where are you going?”

“Home,” is all that comes out of your mouth. “It’s well over midnight Pans, I need my beauty sleep,”

“You’re not  apparating home like this, let me take you,” 

She’s a good friend, Pansy. The best, really. She is helping you into your travel cloak and guiding you out the door. “You need some fresh air, darling. You’re still pale as a sheet, are you sure nothing’s amiss?”

“I just need to get home,” you repeat. 

Your eyes squint at the brightness of the street lights. The  Firewhisky rushing to your head, the world gives a nasty turn and you stumble against a post. 

“Draco!” Pansy is trying to get you upright, “Darling, I’ve never seen you like this. What the hell did Granger say to you?”

You can’t answer that question. You don’t know, you can’t understand. There is a piece of your heart that is reserved under her name. A piece that is forever broken and cannot be mended. A piece that despite Tori’s love and kindness, cannot be fused back with the rest of your pitiable heart. Hermione Granger had the power of making you feel alive, of laying before you endless possibilities, of igniting your bones with excitement. Whatever it is she gave you has always felt dangerous and fickle, yet it has ingrained itself into your very soul and it will never leave. 

What is it about her, you will never  know. You continue to stumble down the alley, Pansy trying to keep you upright. Some passersby stare at you in surprise. You really don't give a fuck. Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake. You just have to see her, and breaks you in two. 

An then, a pop. The world goes black as Pansy carries you into oblivion. 


End file.
